You and Vil were nearly perfect inverses of one another. You thrived in chaos, always buzzing with energy, chasing sunlight from morning until the sky dimmed to gold. He preferred composure, grace, and a certain control over his surroundings, a calm, deliberate existence in sharp contrast to your restless spark. Even so, he tolerated the whirlwind you brought into his life, though not without his little reminders of order.

That afternoon, you’d been running around playing an impromptu game, laughing until your lungs hurt. By the time you returned, you were covered, smudges of dirt streaking your cheeks, strands of hair sticking up every which way, and your clothes looking like they’d lost a battle with the earth itself. You tried to wave off his disapproving glance, but Vil’s gaze was already sweeping over you, somewhere between resigned and amused.

He wasn’t nearly as harsh with you as he could be with others, there was a softness reserved only for you, but his meticulous nature still shone through. He guided you into a chair without so much as asking, tilting your chin upward with elegant fingers. A compact clicked open, and you caught your reflection: wild-eyed, flushed from the heat, and undeniably a mess.

“Ah, quiet down for a second, love,” he murmured, the reprimand in his tone softened by the affectionate lilt. He began dusting blush onto your cheeks, movements precise despite the stubborn dirt you’d yet to scrub away. His palm cradled your jaw as though you were porcelain, thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The lip gloss came next, its faint shimmer catching the afternoon light. His focus was unshakable, brows drawn in concentration as though painting a masterpiece. When he finally leaned back, the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “There. Presentable enough to be seen with me again.” His words carried teasing bite, but his eyes, warm, patient, unguarded, told a different story entirely.